Book Excerpt

CHAPTER I — AT SEA

Aboard the USS Nimitz, Pacific Ocean

The KABOOM of two fighter planes catapulting into the sky filled the air as the two planes accelerated from zero to 200 mph in 300 feet. All along the flight deck barely a head turned. Navy sailors wearing different colored jackets to indicate their specific jobs did those precise jobs as the U.S. Navy aircraft carrier USS Nimitz sliced through the Pacific Ocean.

At one side of the deck and several stories high stood the tall structure known as “the island.” Here men and women — part of the pilot control center for the ship — watched as their birds took flight or returned to roost.
**April 16
0800 hours
On the hangar deck — one deck below the flight deck — at the far end of that deck and facing out to sea, several pilots engaged in target practice as Navy Lieutenant Commander Mollie Sanders moved among them.

Oblivious to the looks given her by the men, she concentrated on her task. She knew that men considered her attractive, but she strove to distract from her looks by trying to be better and faster than any of the men – in any of their tasks.

After checking the grip of one pilot, Mollie let her gaze sweep the horizon of ocean and more ocean. She inhaled the air – what a welcome smell!

She had arrived onboard only last night in the dark. Immediately this morning she’d been asked to “help out” with target practice. No time to appreciate what she’d finally achieved – a transfer to ship duty.

Mollie stopped alongside a guy also in his early 30s. His flight jacket said Witlow and he held the pistol like a gunfighter in a western. Maybe his call sign was gun fighter.

“Two hands, cowboy,” Mollie said. “This isn’t the OK Corral. And use the sights. The object is to hit your target, not scare him.”

The pilot turned blazing eyes on her. “And who the hell – “

Mollie pointed to the strip of white tape on her ball cap that said instructor. That stopped his protest.

She held out her hand for his pistol. He hesitated, then handed it over.

She assumed the perfect two-handed firing position – and in a blaze of fire emptied the magazine at the silhouette target.

Mollie hauled back the target. All her shots converged in a three-inch group – in the target’s groin!

The pilot eyed the target but said nothing.

“That’s the way to do it,” she said to him. She cleared the pistol and handed it back to him.

Mollie walked to the next firing position, aware of his eyes sending death rays into her back.

Oh, well, she wouldn’t have to deal with him again. Today’s instructor role was a favor. Tomorrow she’d be in her favorite spot in the whole world – up above the earth, free of entanglements, speeding towards a far-off horizon.

Out of the corner of Mollie’s eye she spotted a hand clapping on the shoulder of the guy she’d just helped. The hand belonged to Air Wing Commander (CAG) Alex Kruger. Mollie remained close enough to hear the CAG talk to Witlow.

Oh, no, Mollie thought. His call sign was Surfer and this was who she’d be flying with!

“Permanently?” Surfer said to the CAG.

“You have a problem with that?” the CAG asked.

“No, sir!”

Mollie nodded. It would be interesting to see what this guy was made of when he was flying instead of shooting. Then, again, he might be surprised by what she was made of when she was flying instead of shooting.

**1130 hours
Kevin Witlow entered the officers’ mess with its long tables and a cafeteria line. He preferred this mess to the clean shirt wardroom, where the officers sat at round tables served by waiters and were required to wear regular uniforms. Here in the dirty shirt wardroom the officers could eat in their work uniforms.

Kevin glanced at the television hanging in one corner. The TV showed the flight deck with planes taking off and landing. Many of the pilots already seated ate with their eyes glued to the TV set.

As Kevin exited the cafeteria line, he spotted his new back-seater sitting by herself at a long table, her eyes also glued to the TV set.

Maybe he should properly introduce himself. He knew he had reacted rudely this morning. But damn it, his only experience with women was his younger sister, and she taught kindergarten, for chrissake.

Why the hell did the CAG have to saddle him with a woman!

Kevin inhaled a calming breath and walked over, sitting down across from her. He held his hand out. She hesitated, for chrissake, then shook. Her hand told him nothing – neither too strong nor too limp. A regular shake.

“Surfer,” he said, giving his call sign.

“Gearhead,” she said.

“Mine’s cause I come from California. Fresno, actually. Never spent a day in my life surfing.”

“Too bad for you.”

Kevin rubbed his head, tried again. “Where’d you come from?”

The woman smiled. “The STORC.”

“The stork? Me, too, but I meant recently.”

The woman’s smile enlarged. “The STORC – Special Tactics and Operations Research Center.”

Kevin watched her stride away from the table. As she did, he smiled with supreme macho confidence. One preening woman wasn’t about to throw him off his game.

**1830 hours
Mollie stood peering down at a chart that Kruger had rolled open on the tiny desk at which he sat. He held an open compass over an area on the chart.

“Missile launch will be in this area.”

“Right, sir.”

“You’ll have about four minutes to detect, track, and fire. If you haven’t done so in three minutes, I’ll self destruct the missile.”

“Roger that, CAG.”

“Have you briefed Surfer yet?”

Mollie hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Didn’t think he had the need to know just yet, sir. I’d like to treat this as routine as possible.”

The CAG looked up at her. “Gearhead …”

He exhaled, then continued. “I believe in letting young officers have enough to hang themselves. Just remember this is the new ‘zero defects’ Navy, Sanders.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “One screwup and you’re through – no matter who says otherwise.”

Here we go again, Mollie thought. For the briefest of seconds her body seemed to collapse into itself, then she straightened up. Maybe he didn’t actually mean what it sounded like – she had worked so hard …

“Don’t intend to make any, sir.”

The CAG dismissed her with a hand wave.

Outside his office Mollie shook her head. She’d forget what the CAG had just said.

The mission would take all her concentration. That and dealing with the gun fighter who was going to be driving her ride.

**April 17
0730 hours
Kevin chomped down his breakfast in the dirty shirt wardroom with the other pilots. These were all men except for two women who sat off in a far corner.

Kevin nodded as his pal Banger came up to Kevin. “Heard you have a new girlfriend, Surf. Giving her a r-i-i-i-de today?”

Usually Kevin didn’t mind Banger’s thick Southern accent or his sexual innuendos. But aware that the CAG would be watching Kevin on this pair-up, Kevin chose his words carefully.

“She already shot me down, Banger. You feel free to try.”

Banger laughed. “She can climb into my back seat any old time.”

The other pilots whooped and whistled. Kevin smiled as another pilot nudged Banger and said, “Better start your approach, B-Man.”

Kevin looked up to see the woman.

Banger turned to face her.

“Why, hello, Miss Scarlett. Would you care to accompany me to the cotillion this Saturday night?”

The woman gave Banger a look, then she said, “I surely am sorry, Ashley Wilkes. I’ve already agreed to go with the Tarleton brothers.”

Kevin had to give it to her, her Southern Belle voice was quite convincing.

She pointed to Kevin.

“Let’s go, Mister Tarleton. Our carriage awaits.”

Kevin walked beside her towards the door. “You have a sense of humor.”

The woman flicked her eyes at him. “Is that what that was? Humor?”

**0800 hours
Kevin and the woman walked out into a beautiful morning and a quiet flight deck. The planes were lined up as if birds at rest.

As they walked toward his plane, she handed him a plastic sleeve.

“Mission profile change. Live fire.”

Hell it is! And with a new back-seater!

Kevin read the sheet, his anger mounting with every word.

“Are you fucking crazy? You don’t change the mission two seconds before we climb into the aircraft.”

The woman again flicked her eyes at him. “It had to be done.”

“The hell you say. I’m going to the CAG.”

The woman pointed to a line on the sheet. “CAG already approved it.”

Now Kevin’s eyes shot his anger at the woman. Shit!

He climbed up the ladder into the pilot’s cockpit – the front seat of his plane – with the stenciled name of Surfer under the canopy. The woman climbed up the other ladder into the navigator’s cockpit – the back seat.

Kevin took a moment to calm his anger before he checked his instruments. He was good to go.
He radioed the towers and got the signal to take off.

The adrenaline rush he got every single time swept over him as he accelerated. His plane catapulted off the deck with its own resounding KABOOM.
He’d give his new back-seater the ride of her life. She’d be begging for a change of assignment.

**0840 hours
In the back seat Mollie checked her weapons control and the electronic warfare instruments. She said into her speaking tube: “N-LAR operation. Commence test run.”

Surfer answered her: “First we’ll have to check out the system’s response to simulated aerial combat.”

The plane began a spectacular series of aerobatics – rolls, loops, dives, climbs, wingovers, slamming on the brakes, flying inverted. Mollie knew he was trying to make her puke.

She hung on — she wouldn’t give in and ask him to stop!

From the speaking tube came Surfer’s voice: “How’s it going back there? Are we having fun yet?”

Mollie managed to get out: “Quite finished, Rocketman? Could we commence the test run now?”

“If that thing’s still working” was the reply.

“N-LAR is designed with aerial combat in mind, Surfer. The test run, if you please.”